


Circles

by golddragon



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:16:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4678262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golddragon/pseuds/golddragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is your fault, Sousa.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circles

“This is your fault, Sousa.” Thompson grit out between clenched teeth. He shook his right wrist, currently handcuffed to Sousa’s left. 

Sousa stood his ground and held his gaze with hard eyes. “You were the one who wanted to charge in here, guns blazing.”

“ _You_ shouldn’t’ve even be here in the first place!” Thompson swung around and glared at Sousa with angry blue eyes. Sousa was sure that if they hadn’t have been handcuffed together, he’d be pacing the length of the small storeroom they were locked in. He'd already watched Thompson throw himself at the door for five minutes straight, trying to break it down. The man was a lunatic. “With your damn leg – what were you thinking?”

“I was _thinking_ that you were being thoughtless.” He didn’t back down, limping forward to push back up into Thompson’s space in retaliation. He was shorter than Thompson, but bulkier, and he used that to his advantage. “Did you even stop to consider that this whole setup was a trap? If I hadn’t come after you when I did you’d be worse off than handcuffed to me right now,” he huffed heatedly. “You’d be in pieces – blasted by whatever that godforsaken tripwire you didn’t even see was going to set off when you burst through those doors.”

Thompson ignored Sousa’s words. He jabbed his finger at Sousa's chest, not touching him. “You. Got. Us. Caught.” He enunciated clearly. “You. Got. _Hurt_. You were _meant_ to stay back in the _office_. How many times have I bloody told you?” He was practically growling in frustration, chest heaving with barely contained fury. 

Both men glared at each other for an indeterminable number of seconds. Their faces were inches apart, neither willing to back down. Then Thompson shook his head in exasperation, throwing his one free hand up, and Sousa watched him steadily as he took a step away, as far as his handcuff would let him. 

“It’s not even worth it being fucking mad at you. All you do is stare at me with those brown eyes of yours and it’s like ragging on a goddamn _puppy_.” He kicked the wall. Then he kicked it again, twice more. 

“Jack.”

“ _Daniel_.” Thompson mimicked scathingly. But he stopped kicking the wall.

Sousa exhaled quietly. He let some of the tension drain out of his body and he sunk back into the reassuring support of the crutch, giving it a little of his weight. Thank god nobody had taken it away from him. The people working here had definitely been hired for their brawn over their brains. 

A brief flashback hit him - Thompson, face contorted in fury, leaping onto the back of a man with biceps the size of melons who'd been in the process of barrelling straight for him. He'd pummelled his brains out.

 _Damn. What a day_. Their remaining hope now was that Carter would somehow get hold of the message he’d sent out just before following Thompson into the warehouse. He hoped to God she'd come after them. Sousa’s estimation of her had sky-rocketed – and it had already been high – after she’d been cleared of her treason charges and the SSR had learnt the extent of her involvement in the Leviathan case. 

He breathed in deeply. 

Running a hand through his hair, Thompson looked up at him, eyes narrowed. He’d noticed the weariness Sousa had let set in his body. “You aren’t hurt, are you? I mean, aside from this…” His hand reached up to briefly hover above the blossoming bruise on Sousa’s temple - from a blow some goon had snuck in - before pulling away. 

Aside from some expected wear and tear, Sousa was okay. “I’m fine,” he said truthfully. 

“Really.” Thompson didn't seem convinced. He raised an eyebrow heavy with scepticism. 

Sousa felt a familiar twitch of self-righteous anger, and pushed it down. “You know, I may be the SSR’s resident cripple, but I can handle myself.” He couldn't help the biting note running through his words, but Thompson only snorted. Sousa ignored him. “What about you?” 

The man was visibly battered, blood on his jaw and a nasty scrape on his skin following the line of his cheekbone on one side of his face. His blonde hair was dishevelled, and one brace had slipped down a shoulder, his clothes covered in dust and grime. Sousa's eyes flicked over his sharp profile assessingly.

“I’m good,” the man said shortly, and Sousa believed him. Thompson was an idiot but he’d be a bigger fool than Sousa thought if he believed there was any point in lying about the state of his injuries to him - especially when there wasn’t any hope of them escaping on their own means anyway. 

“Come here,” he said softly. Thompson looked up and met his gaze. 

Sousa stepped forward, and after a moment Thompson did the same. Abandoning his crutch, Sousa lifted his hands up and cupped Thompson’s face, pulling him down. A brief second's hesitation and he drew him in all the way, their foreheads resting on each other. The other man didn’t pull back, looking down at him seriously. 

“What?” He asked quietly. 

Sousa’s thumb traced his jaw, forehead furrowing. His brows lowered and he knew he was glowering. “Don’t ever do that to me again. I thought you were going to die.” 

He received a light snort in answer. “What did you think _I_ thought when I heard you hobbling in after me?” Although the words were harsh Thompson’s tone was no longer acidic. He bumped his nose against Sousa’s, hands tracing up his arms and briefly holding his wrists, before moving up to mirror Sousa’s hold on his face. His touch was gentler. Thompson always seemed to hold him as if he'd break him even more. 

Their bodies pressed together. Thompson spoke. “You know I worry about you. Constantly.”

“Idiot. So do I. That’s the point.” 

“But your leg – I can afford to lose a bit. You can’t.” Thompson’s voice leaked something dark and Sousa pressed his lips to his in a brief kiss, shutting him up. 

“No. You can’t.” He kissed him again, and this time it was longer. Thompson took the small kiss greedily, a man tasting fruit after a lifetime of consuming only bread. 

He pulled back. “You’re making me mushy, Sousa,” he growled. Then he kissed him harder and Sousa’s hands dropped from his face. They moved to Thompson’s chest, tugging at his shirt and hauling him impossibly closer. 

Eventually they pulled apart for breath. “You need to stop worrying about me,” Sousa ordered. His hands fastened securely around Thompson's braces, holding him tightly, unwilling to let him go.

Thompson let out a pained groan. “ _You_ need to stop making me worry!”

“Circles, Jack." Sousa's eyes crinkled at their edges. "This conversation is one.” 

“Then stop talking, _Daniel_.” Thompson bit his lip to shut him up, sucking it into his mouth, and it was hot and mean and Sousa moaned. Thompson was a biter, but somehow he'd never minded. 

They lost their words in each other’s mouths for a while. Thompson bit him a little bit more and Sousa gasped quietly a lot and neither complained. 

A distant explosion rocked the building and unwillingly they both surfaced, Sousa blinking. Thompson gently detached himself from his hold. He didn't let go of Sousa's hands, although he knew he would when the others (inevitably now) turned up. “I think that’s our rescue party,” Thompson said wryly. 

Clearing his thoughts, Sousa grabbed Thompson’s shirt one more time, pulling him down. “No more charging into things,” he said, fixing Thompson with a narrowed stare. “Use your head,” he commanded.

“No more charging into things yourself!” Thompson said fiercely in retaliation. 

_Somehow, I doubt this argument is ever going to grow old_ , Sousa thought.


End file.
